


solicitation from darkness

by Dawn_Blossom



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Blood Drinking, M/M, but not very much blood drinking so don't get excited, vampire!Chrom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-26
Updated: 2018-10-26
Packaged: 2019-08-08 02:19:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16420499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dawn_Blossom/pseuds/Dawn_Blossom
Summary: A monster meets a vampire.





	solicitation from darkness

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys, I hope you're all ready for my ~spooooky Halloween story~
> 
> Lol, it's not actually spooky at all. It's the same emotional junk I always write, just with vampire!Chrom this time. Fun fact: Grima was going to be Frankenstein's Monster!Grima, but lmao THAT'S JUST HIS ACTUAL CANON. Like, turns out I already write Grima with the same basic characterization that I would write the Creature with (if I were inclined to write fanfiction about him). Frankenstein IS my favorite novel, so, uh... Well, I couldn't resist sprinkling a couple of references to it in here.. (Including the title, which references the epigraph prefacing Frankenstein, which is itself a quote from Paradise Lost. "Did I request thee, Maker, from my clay/To mould me man? Did I solicit thee/From darkness to promote me?" It obviously means something different in the context of this fic, but... I just like being a pretentious little shit sometimes).
> 
> Anyway, Happy (early as of posting) Halloween, and I hope you enjoy the fic ^^

Midnight will mark Grima’s thousandth year in the world.

He does not know why he has returned to the place of his creation. The civilization here is not the one he knew (for he had made sure that every trace of it was eradicated at his departure). He does not fool himself into thinking that he can enter the city’s gates, however. He knows how it ends. True, he has created a beautiful form for himself, a vessel for his being that appears to be human. But his true self does not cease to exist merely because he wears different skin. The hideous, hulking dragon always remains. That the humans accept his false form and spurn his true one is nothing more than a testament to their vanity.

He cannot coexist with humanity, that much is clear. Humans are such awful creatures, turning against all they consider monstrous. He has killed countless numbers of them, and perhaps that does make him a monster. But it is what they want, in the end. They condemned him to wretchedness long before he condemned them in return. They should suffer as he has suffered. They should suffer as he still suffers. No harm he can inflict is enough. Even in death, the humans find solace in each other; they spend their dying breaths calling out for their favored companions. Grima, however, is alone. Always alone.

The distant toll of a bell tells Grima of the moment he has been waiting for. It is but an instant, and nothing changes in it. The world is dark around him, the moon obscured by thick clouds. The tension in the air promises a storm. His own power hums just beneath the surface of his skin, reminding him that _he_ could be blotting out the sky, that _he_ could be the raging storm, if he were only to will it.

But he will not bother. He did not come here tonight to rain destruction. He wants nothing more than to reflect. A millennium of life bears heavily upon him tonight. Even monsters need to rest.

But… It seems that rest will not be forthcoming.

Grima may be wearing human skin, but his senses are always that of the creature he is, far keener than those of any human. A more oblivious being may have thought the sound of rustling leaves behind him to be part of the forest’s natural rhythm. But Grima knows better. Whoever is trailing him is hiding too well to be innocent.

Indeed, as he steps into the forest’s clearing, Grima turns around just in time to see his pursuer’s face… flying towards him. Grima moves with him so as to lessen the force of the man’s impact against him. 

With his back now against a tree, Grima takes a moment to survey his attacker. The darkness of the man’s blue hair stands in contrast with his glowing red eyes. If Grima hadn’t already expected that this predator was nonhuman, that certainly would have cinched it. 

“Vampire…” Grima murmurs.

“So you know of my kind,” the vampire says, smiling. The expression could almost be mistaken for friendly were his fangs not so prominently displayed.

“It’s uncommon to see one hunting alone, but I suppose it’s not unheard of,” Grima says casually. If the vampire thinks he can intimidate him, he is mistaken. Grima is fearless, and all the more powerful for it.

“I wasn’t hunting,” the vampire says. “I am Prince Chrom of Ylisse. We have plenty of blood at the castle.”

“Oh, really?” Grima challenges. “Then why are you in the throes of bloodlust right now?”

Chrom lets out a growl, his eyes growing even brighter.

“Are you _aware,_ ” he hisses, “of how your blood smells? Like… Like _ambrosia._ ”

“Ambrosia…” Grima echoes. 

He is a devil, not a god. But perhaps that is exactly what would attract such an unholy creature of the night.

“I only need a little,” Chrom whispers. “Please, I need…”

Grima laughs. Few predators would beg their prey.

“Take it, then,” he says. “If you aren’t afraid.”

If this vampire had any sense, he would be wary. It may be the rare predator that begs its prey, but no prey would ever consent.

And Grima is certainly no prey. It would only take a moment to crush Chrom with his powerful dragon claws. Vampires are much stronger than humans, but still far more fragile than Grima. An artificial being surpasses both the natural and supernatural.

But Chrom does not question anything. Moving with the high speed vampires are known for, he sinks his fangs into Grima’s neck. There is pain, but nothing that Grima cannot ignore. There is pleasure, too—vampire saliva is meant to keep the prey enthralled—but Grima’s mind is not submissive to every signal of his vessel, and it is far more enthralling to watch the vampire’s reaction than to absorb himself in his own. 

Chrom’s tongue laps at Grima’s neck; there is far more licking than drinking. Grima wonders at the taste. It must be pleasant, for the vampire to be enjoying himself so. Yet Grima can hardly believe that it would be so appealing. Vampires drink from humans. Only humans, for every other creature’s blood is unpalatable.. How, then, can the sickening combination of human and dragon blood that flows through him offer any satisfaction to a vampire? He has never attracted the creatures before. He is curious, though Chrom is currently too occupied to answer any question Grima could formulate.

Of course, the glow of power in Chrom’s eyes is growing duller by the second. The bloodlust is receding.

Grima can pinpoint the exact moment Chrom comes to his senses. The tongue against his neck ceases its movement, and in an instant, Chrom is stepping back from him.

“Humans don’t taste like that,” Chrom says quietly. He licks his lips, perhaps involuntarily. He does not show his fangs again. “Just what are you?”

“What am I?” Grima chuckles. It would be nice if he had a clear answer. “You can decide for yourself.”

It takes only a spark of his magic to summon his true form from within him. He cannot expand himself to his full size due to the constraints of his environment, but even at smaller size, Chrom could be a child’s toy in his claws.

“A dragon?” Chrom says in confusion. “That could explain it, but… Dragons do not taste like that, either…”

“I am the fell dragon, Grima,” Grima says in two voices. “Long ago, divine dragon blood was sullied with the blood of a most despicable human. The mixture formed my blood, bones, and flesh. I am not a human, but I am unlike any dragon in this world. So I will ask you a riddle like a Sphynx. What am I, truly?”

Chrom does not speak. His eyes trail across both of Grima’s forms.and then, suddenly, he disappears with a flash of smoke.

A moment later, Grima realizes what has occurred. Chrom is not gone; his shape has merely changed. Circling around the dragon’s head is a bat, though both its uncommonly large size and its blue coloration sets it apart from a natural creature. Though it is larger than a normal bat, it is still so much smaller than Grima that he almost unthinkingly swats at it like a pest with his wings. It is only his intelligence that stops him.

“Return to your other form at once,” Grima demands through the mouth of his human vessel. Were he to open the dragon’s mouth, Chrom might fly in and never come out. “I cannot converse with you if you can only chirp.”

Chrom lets out another chirp that Grima can only assume is mocking given what he’s just said. Still, the bat disappears in a flash of smoke, and a second later the vampire returns to his red-eyed form.

“You’re like nothing I’ve ever seen,” Chrom says. “To answer your question, what you are is… a completely unique creature.”

“Perhaps, in one sense, you are correct,” Grima says. “There is nothing else in this world _exactly_ like me. But suppose I posed the question to a human. They would look for a generality. I am not a human. I am not like the dragons they know. And so the answer to my question is that I am a monster, because there is no other category to fit me into.”

Chrom narrows his eyes.

“They say it because they despise you,” Chrom says. “Not because it means anything. They call vampires that, too.”

“Oh, I am a monster,” Grima says. “By nature or by choice. The difference doesn’t matter to me. I despise humanity measure for measure with its hatred of me. Anything I do to them has been at least attempted on me, thousands of times over.”

“Fair enough…” Chrom says. “We rely on humans for their blood, but none of us would argue that they’re great for conversation. We keep most of them out of the halidom, for their safety as well as ours. Vampires and humans have been hunting each other for so many centuries that a breakdown of peace is inevitable whenever they enter our borders. We chase them away.”

“A country without humans?” Grima has never imagined that such a place could exist. He supposes it could, with coordination. Humans declare territories and keep each other out. Surely a supernatural species could do the same. “How fortunate for you.”

He wishes he could avoid them as well. For all that he repulses them, they are everywhere, and no solitary creature can keep them all away.

“Right…” Chrom says. “Er… Pardon me if this is forward, but… Would you be interested in staying here for some time?”

“What?” Surely Grima has heard wrong. Living in a country without humans would be delightful, and he is a creature that knows only misery. 

“See, there’s this job position we need filled…” Chrom says. “But it’s a bit difficult to find qualified applicants…”

“I am not going to sign up to be your lunch,” Grima interrupts.

“N-No!” Chrom exclaims. “That’s not what I’m talking about. Your blood is delicious, but no one will feed off you at the castle. We all have excellent control. I was, er… distracted earlier. And that ties into what I would ask of you…”

“I’m listening,” Grima says. He will never lower himself to be a creature of prey, but he is willing to consider anything else.

“We’re having trouble at our borders,” Chrom says. “Again. Or perhaps still. The years run together… The point is, humans are crossing into the halidom increasingly often, and they’re coming with better weapons and more people. There are only so many vampires here who can fight. One of us can take ten of them, but even so…”

“I can take a thousand,” Grima says. “I assume that is what you are asking me to do.”

“I have a militia,” Chrom says. “I think we’d all appreciate the help.”

It isn’t the first time that Grima has been approached because he is powerful. But it’s the first time he’s been offered something he truly desires in return.

“I’ll accompany you to your castle,” he says, trying not to make his longing visible. “We can discuss the specific terms there.”

“Great,” Chrom smiles as he extends his hand. It’s strange that someone whose skin is so cold is now giving Grima the warmest smile he’s ever received.

He may not be a vampire, but if they are all monsters in kind, then perhaps…

Perhaps Grima need not be alone.


End file.
